


And Back

by seenonlyfromadistance



Category: The Mummy (2017)
Genre: M/M, Possession, canon death stuff, kissing and sex and etc, sand boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 02:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11568600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seenonlyfromadistance/pseuds/seenonlyfromadistance
Summary: First thing, Nick brings Vail back from the dead. And then they have to deal with what comes next, the monsters and messes and what it means to have an ancient god strapped to your soul.more or less Post-movie sappy monster nonsense.





	And Back

How precious, how perilous all life is.

_You will have power of life over death._

Death. Too much death already.

Jenny, so small and still and pale, her hair spread in the water beneath her.

_Power to save and keep safe what is yours._

In the blink of an eye, a mere moment of black and Jenny isn't Jenny anymore. Jenny is gone and laying in her place, small and still and pale, is Vail. Chris. Chris as he was, not as Nick has seen him. Not ghostly, not sunken, not crumbled like old stone. Small, still, and pale, yes. Drowned. But not poisoned, not eaten up. Chris. _His Chris_ , as if he'd listened when he said he'd been bitten in Iraq, as if Chris had been with him this whole time, alive and warm and at his side like he was always supposed to be.

He can imagine it-- Chris punching him in the arm and yelling, "You drove us in a circle! She’s in your head, man!" Chris rolling his eyes, Chris frowning at Jekyll's crap. Chris echoing, “That’s your plan?!” Chris pounding on glass while Nick gets tossed around on the other side. Chris screaming in the face of dead Templar knights. Chris swimming at his side, Chris getting pulled under...

How it could have been. How it should have been.

Ahmanet whispers in his ear. 

_You could bring him back._

Chris. 

Chris who followed him to Iraq despite worries and complaints and sunburns. Followed him constantly and with only minor, superficial gripes. Chris who patched his wounds and brushed sand out of his hair and said over and over, "I hate you, but what would you do without me?" Over and over again, he said "I hate you" and Nick knew he meant something else entirely. 

Chris.

Chris who deserved better. Better than he got, better than Nick. 

_He is yours and you can have him again._

At his other elbow, just outside his line of vision, no more than a blur in his periphery, appears the Chris of the past three days, shattered and gray and crumbling. 

"Come on, Nick. Say yes."

The pieces come together, half formed still, but present. The Chris of the past three days is not Chris. Not really, not his Chris. A projection or an illusion.... some twisted distortion, but not his Chris. His Chris is lying across the room, small and still and pale, in a pool of water. No. His Chris is in a morgue somewhere, or buried among the pieces of the plane. The shadow at his elbow is not his Chris. Never was Chris. This Chris is a hallucination, a trick. Something Ahmanet is using to get at him. Something to manipulate him. 

Nick does want _his_ Chris back. Needs him. 

Vail's voice says to him, "Think of what you could do." 

Ahmanet whispers, _think of what you could have._

It jangles and rattles in his head, distracting and disorienting. It's hard to focus. There are too many things happening in front of his eyes-- both the dark, grimy wet of the tomb and the blazing hot sun of a desert he half knows from dreams. The figures are the same. Chris and Ahmanet. Chris in the water, Ahmanet in the shadows. Chris in the sand, his arms around Ahmanet, his face buried in her hair, his dark eyes looking only at Nick. It rings a familiar, far off bell.

The tomb around him drips and echoes. Too many mistakes, too much death.

_Give in. Give in to me._

In the blink of an eye, Vail is gone and Jenny is back, small and still and pale, and Nick feels something snap. A string, a rib, a something, and he thinks-- _fuck it. Fuck this. No more._

-

When Jenny asks, “you did this for me?” Nick presses his face against the stones and chokes out a yes. For her, yes, but for himself. To not have any more blood on his hands. To be able to pull back the veil of death and retrieve what is his. Too many mistakes. Not enough time. 

He can barely stand to look at her.

-

The thing inside him howls constantly.

-

The first time he tries to bring Chris back, he fails. It goes so wrong. Nick is still struggling to control the monster in him, the thing that rattles its chains inside his mind and claws at the inside of his belly and drys his mouth out with it's sands. It's hard to control, hard to tamp down, hard to keep quiet. It screams and taunts him in his own voice and ruins his sleep. It makes him sick and tired. It's even harder to make it behave, make it work with him. Make it do what he wants, what he needs. With Jenny, it was a force of will. Nearly an accident. She came back clean and easy. 

Vail's body is not in quite as good condition. 

Nick has found he can come and go as he pleases, from most places. It’s been two weeks and with focus he can slide through the shadows and be dust, be sand, be the rats that flock to him and the crows that follow him. So absconding from the morgue with Chris isn't exactly difficult. It's the next stages that are harder and less clear. Set is less willing to be helpful. Only cooperative when it suits it, when it finds it amusing to help.

Vail is so broken looking, so sunken. The black poison that spiderwebs through his veins is apparent through his thin, gray skin. It's awful, so unlike him. Vail was always healthy and tan, even when they first met, before their long years in the desert together. His tattoos never stood out quite so sharply. England is cold and the ground is damp where Nick lays him. If only Jenny were here… she would know, she would have ideas… Jenny. A force of will. A demand. _Wake up._

He tries it, his palms hard on Chris' shoulders. _Wake. Up._

Nothing.

Nick shakes him as his own hands tremble. Grips harder to Vail. If he can't do it, what was it all for?

_Wake up!_

With a gasp, Chris comes hurtling back to life. Immediately, his skin regains some color, some of it’s fullness, but the black creeping along his jaw and over his cheekbones doesn't retreat, the clouding of his damaged eye doesn't repair. Frantically, Vail looks around him, his teeth gritted painfully, then his breathing turns to wheezing, then choking. Thick, black blood begins to seep from the wounds at his ribs, his chest, his mouth. Nick freezes-- this isn't right. Chris twists horrifically, suddenly, his hands clawing at the back of his neck, digging and scraping until he draws fresh blood. There is terror in his face, genuine terror. 

The thing inside Nick howls with pleasure, screaming it's delight in how wrong this has gone. _This is what you get, you selfish fool_ , it hisses at him. _You thoughtless idiot._

Chris coughs, moans, drowns in his own blood and viscera. His struggling slows, his breathing rattles, his eyes roll back in his head and he goes limp and still and pale again. 

A wash of horror and fury and grief and frustration washes over Nick. His eyes burn with it. 

Now Vail is covered in blood, black from the congealed gunshot wounds, wounds Nick gave him, and red from the clawing. Bright red. Looking at it turns Nick's stomach. Clearly the wounds can't stay. What good is power of life over death if you can't heal as well?

_You want to fix him. Why him?_

_I choose him_ , Nick thinks. _I want him back._ “Help or shut up.”

_Say please._

A little push rolls Vail onto his side, and Nick looks at the bite on the back of his neck. Even half obscured by the scratches and blood, it's an ugly thing. The black that trails from it is horrible and unnatural. Like snakes under the skin, crawling their way to devour him from the inside out. It won't do. That can't stay. Without thinking much, letting the thing in him guide him, Nick puts a hot palm on the bite and... pulls. There's a sensation like pulling anyway. He moves his hand, massaging the death out, and concentrates. 

He pulls and the black under Vail's skin retreats. Retreats and retreats until it sits solely under Nick's palm, a writhing, horrible thing. Taking his hand away, the black comes with him, twisting around his fingers like smoke. It looks almost like a spider, or a scorpion, but fragmentary. A leg here, a pincer there. With a flick of his wrist, Nick dissipates the half-alive monstrosity and waves away it's ashes.

Already, Chris looks better. More like himself.

The wound itself is nothing to heal-- Nick wipes it away with some pressure and focus.

The monster in him crows, _How easy it would be to do more. Let me do more. Remake the world how you wish it._

For now, all he wants is his friend, whole and well. Gathering his concentration, Nick works at the gaping bullet wounds. The one under Vail’s ribs first, then the one in his chest. Each closes like a magic trick under the pressure of his palm and in the blink of an eye. He extracts a bullet from one of them and rolls it in his palm. It’s macabre. The last-- just under Chris's collar bone, just to the right of his heart-- Nick settles both hands over. The thing in him reaches out and knits together cold muscles, tendons, skin. It laughs at him but does his bidding.

_I choose him._

Chris.

_Wake up._

This time, he comes back screaming.

Nick half leaps on him, crushing hands over his mouth, shushing him. "Hey, hey," he says, "It's fine, it's okay." Chris writhes under him, curls onto his side and vomits. What comes up is black and thick. Clotted blood and bile. He skitters away from it, his hands sliding on the wet moss below him. Nick follows, laying hands on Chris’ shoulders, his back, trying to calm him. “Vail, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay. Chris.” Vail turns and sees him, really sees him and… something settles in him. His breathing is still heavy and hard when Nick takes his hands away, but he’s not panicking any more.

"You bastard," are Chris' first words back from the dead. His voice is hoarse. "I hate you. What happened?"

I hate you. Just like old times. Nick can't help but laugh. Relief washes over him like a torrent. It almost crushes him. Moving his weight off Chris' chest, he drops his forehead to Vail's shoulder. He’s still cold, physically, but it doesn’t worry him. He’s too relieved to think about what it means. Nick runs hot now, hot as the sun on the sand, and finds himself rubbing at Chris’ arms and shoulders, warming him, rubbing life back into his limbs. 

"Wait," Chris says, his still bloodied hands shakily patting his chest, "was I dead? Did you bring me back from the dead?"

-

Nick remembers the night he knew Chris would come to Iraq with him. They were in the south of France, ten miles off a military base, having drinks and picking at a dinner that was a little too heavy. That’s the French for you, Nick had said. Too much cream. Ten months before, Nick had picked up Chris in a bar stateside. Chris Vail, a disgruntled soldier-- one who had only ever joined up to get through college, emerge with a degree in anthropology and a minor in archaeology, realize it was useless and stay in the army. Never a good soldier and never a soldier who had been any good at soldiering, never learned how to shoot, never worked very hard at it… and when Nick picked him up, he was about ready to get out for good, finally fed up of the controlling nature of the life. Tired of schedules and drills and the lack of privacy. He took a leave of absence, just for a week, to go home to Evanston and think over his options. That led to a week of drowning himself in liquor to avoid looking at his future. And just then, when the next step was utterly unclear, just at that moment was when Nick Morton, fellow soldier, had sidled up with a grin on his face.

Buy ya a drink, how about another, anthropology you say? How fascinating. Oh studied some archeology too, you don’t say. You know I’ve been looking for someone just like you...

He had picked out Chris in particular and it had paid off. Seen a man who knew how to get his hands dirty and wouldn't mind doing it, who was a little lost. He was trying to leave a life where his every action was controlled, but wouldn’t completely mind following someone else.

One job, in Europe. Wouldn't it be nice to travel? To get overseas? _I can arrange it_ , Nick had promised. _We’ll go together, I'll take care of everything._

The first job, a slip-in-slip-out in Morocco, had left them successful and far richer than before, but unsatisfied. Though Chris was reluctant to admit it, adventure had bitten both of them right in the ass. Rich was fine. Rich was one thing. Fulfilled was another. There was an itch now, just under the skin, for more. One job led to another, to another. Antiquities, buried treasures, undocumented galleons and gold bars and statuettes. Found, collected, brought back to Paris, London, Milan, and sold. 

Nick had figured out the Iraq gig. They would act as advisors, really. Long range reconnaissance. No danger. Protected by a huge military presence, but hardly beholden to it. Free to roam, unsupervised enough to plunder. No risk, all reward. Titles. Treasure. Travel. _Adventure._

Chris had demurred, then. His feelings towards the American military complex weren’t exactly warm anymore. Ever since taking up with Nick, he’d felt the yoke of it chafing more and more. And then there was the sun, the sand, the risk, _yes Nick, there’s a risk, there’s always a risk, especially in an active war zone, don’t act like I’m stupid._

Nick couldn’t quite find the angle to convince him. He knew it was there, but the details of it had evaded him. 

There had been a woman at the bar, vacationing alone from Paris. Amandine. Dark hair and eyes, her sharper angles offput by sweeping curves. 

She didn't speak English particularly well, and they didn’t speak much French, but she knew enough to order their drinks and to say, “And I like your friend too.”

She had hooked them both by their shirt fronts and taken them upstairs.

It was like this: 

The three of them lying together on her bed, skin sweat-slick and hot, Chris’ callused hands on her hips, or spread wide on her back, the back of his fingers just brushing Nick’s stomach. Her hands on both of them, one digging into Vail’s collarbone, the other into Nick’s flank behind her. Nick with his hands on her breasts, on her side, between her legs. Chris looking at him through her hair. She would move just right and his eyes would crash shut. His mouth loosely open, occasionally intersecting with hers, often not. Panting. His hooded, heavy eyes fluttering to find Nick and lingering. 

When she put her leg over Chris’ hip and he fucked her, Nick pressed close behind. Chris’ hand, holding her waist. Nick watched, watched his muscles shift under his tan skin, watched eyes open softly, watched his attention move from the girl in his arms, over her shoulder, to Nick and stick on only Nick. Looking over her and through her and intensely only at Nick. To see him like this, his eyes dark and heavy and inattentive to anything but him-- it all becomes clear. 

So Nick puts a hand over Chris’, on the woman’s waist, and feels how Chris’ breath hitches. Feels his fingers tense. Hears the small gasp. Feels how Vail’s whole being seems to surge towards him. Between them, the girl gives a rasping moan and shifts her body. Nick tangles his feet with Chris’ and looks him right in the eyes. He presses his mouth to Chris’ arm, resting under the woman’s neck, cushioning her. Vail’s forearm tenses, twists, his fingertips finding Nick’s hair. Nick cranes his neck so Chris can get a handful, if he chooses. He doesn’t quite-- his fingers brush against Nick’s hair, tremulous, wanting to touch and take and have, but not willing to do it. Too gentle. Tender. Nick lets his mouth fall open against Chris’ arm, his wrist. Not quite kisses, but not exactly not kisses. An electric current goes through Vail’s body.

Amandine turns her head to bury her face in the pillows and Nick lifts himself up onto an elbow. Chris watches him. He takes his hand from Chris’ on the girl’s waist, shifts to feel Vail’s ribs, press against his chest to roll him onto his back. Sweat collects at the hollow of his collarbones. Nick kisses Amandine’s spine, her shoulders, the crook of her neck. Then, torturously slowly, kisses Chris’s chest, his throat, the corner of his mouth. It’s awkward, propped over the girl as he is, but when Chris moves to catch Nick’s half working mouth with his own, it’s sure as hell worth the awkwardness. It’s a kiss sloppily achieved, but it gets the job done. Chris tries to follow when Nick pulls away. He makes the softest sound. Softer still when Nick drags a hand down his chest and stomach and takes him in hand. Still slick from the girl, and still hard, and, god, those keening sounds he makes as he fists his hands in the sheets. The girl between them watches, mouths at Chris’ shoulder and touches herself and Nick. Her delicate palm isn’t exactly what he wants, but Chris looks like he’s digging fingernails into his own palms hard enough to leave marks. 

It’s not about the girl anymore, and Nick would feel bad about it if not for the flush that blossoms beautifully across Vail’s chest and face. If not for the way Chris digs his heels into the bed, bites his own lip. Keeps his dark eyes fixed on Nick’s face and keeps his hands clenched above his head. 

“You’re allowed to touch,” Nick whispers. “If you want.”

Chris just bites his lip and shuts his eyes. 

Nick can mimic all the qualities of genuine human intimacy, and sometimes he even feels it.

The next day, when Chris comes out of the shower and Nick is still sitting naked on his bed, a towel draped artfully over his lap, Chris stutters to a stop. He blushes, high on his cheeks and just across that crooked nose of his. It’s kind, and more than a little flattering. Nick isn’t as young as he used to be. He knows that. And yet Chris dares to be attracted to him anyway. To love him anyway. Flattering. Useful. He knows now how to keep Chris by his side.

When Nick asks again, it’s not a question. “We’re going to Iraq.” Chris doesn’t answer right away. “I know it's not that you don’t want to take a risk with me. You trust me, don’t you?”

He offers a hand, palm up, very gentle. Like offering sugar to a horse. Chris doesn’t take it, but he does come to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Nick, I…” Nick turns a little, puts a hand on Vail’s knee. He knows now how to get Chris to go where he doesn’t want to go, do what he doesn’t want to do.

“You’ll come with me.” 

Lets the hand move, grip. He smiles his most charming smile. The one that got the girl to come over to them last night. The crooked one that wrinkles his eyes just so and shows off his teeth just right.

“You wouldn’t let me go alone, would you?”

Vail wouldn’t, and he doesn’t. 

-

They spent three years in the desert together.

Now they’re going back. 

Nick had thought, now what? He hadn’t thought much beyond getting Vail back. _Now what?_ They can’t go back to what they were doing, not with this thing clattering around inside Nick’s chest. Not when they've both been legally declared dead. The next step has to be about this curse. To get rid of it, he has to learn more about it. Knowledge is power and all that bullshit.

Nick thinks, what would Jenny do? Research, he figures. Investigate. Jenny would go back to the desert and dig around for answers. So that’s what he decides he’ll do. There’s never any question that Chris will come with him. They don’t even discuss it. They just go. Whatever tied them together before has now been cemented for eternity. If Nick has to live forever as some monstrous half-god, Chris had better be with him. There isn’t a question. There isn’t a doubt. Nick says Let’s go, Chris says Where? 

They’re both shadows now, beings who have crossed the line between life and death too many times. Who would understand them but each other? Who would suit them better?

In England, and in France as they move south, Chris shivers constantly. He can’t get warm. He’s pale and ice cold and stiff. He doesn’t complain about it, probably because he’s just happy to be there. Confused as hell, and more than a little unsettled, but glad to be alive and with Nick. They don’t talk a lot about what happened, or a lot in general. Not any more. They used to talk constantly, a comforting chatter as they scrounged through graves and tombs and temples. Now they are quiet together. It’s comfortable in a different way, though not without an undercurrent of tension. A rip tide that could sweep them away. Nick doesn’t like the new arrangement quite as much. Chris is constantly stretching his hands, rubbing at the back of his neck, lost in his own thoughts.

On a train leaving Marseille, Chris asks, quietly, finally, about the things he doesn’t remember. He had spent the day on the beach, soaking up as much warmth as he could get into his body. He says he feels more alive, being in the sun. He doesn’t quite have the words to explain it, but the heat and warmth reinvigorate his sluggish, aching body. His joints pop in cold weather. His muscles get stiff. He needs the heat like a lizard, a snake. A cold-blooded thing. Nick thinks to himself, _he’s still half dead_. His eyes don't reflect light like they used to. They absorb it now, leaving him dark and opaque. In certain lights it's so unnatural that it scares people-- Nick can tell they don't always know why, but that there's something about looking in Vail’s eyes...

Nick doesn’t quite have a taste for sunbathing any more. Especially not since he wakes up every morning with text moving just under his skin. With some concentration he can suppress it, look normal and human again, keep it buried deep. But still, it’s _every morning_. He sleeps poorly, always, and wakes up to watch the letters shift, letters he only partially understands, twisting black down his cheeks or over his eyes, or along the curve of his eyebrows. It takes effort to make them fade. It’s too risky to show too much skin. In case he slips. Surely Chris has seen it by now, but he hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t said anything about anything. 

Until he looks away from the window of the train, looks at Nick for a long time. Seems to gather some courage, some force of will… Then-- “Hey Nick, can I ask… What happened to you? To me? I don’t… remember, really.” It’s weak, but it’s a crack in the door that had been tightly shut between them.

He remembers the tomb, _Haram_ , the spiders, the mercury, the casket. Getting bitten. He remembers getting chills, almost immediately, feeling sick and queasy in the helicopter. He remembers that Nick was distracted with Jenny. He remembers lying down in the back of the plane, thinking it would pass. He can still feel how his jaw ached, how his mouth watered like he was about to vomit. He remembers a voice, a woman’s voice, whispering to him... 

Then it gets hazy. There are half formed memories rattling around, but he can’t put them in order. A woman, and Nick, mirrors and water, a sand storm and a train tunnel. Then, very clearly, he remembers waking up screaming, half naked, laying on moss in an English forest with Nick over him, clutching at him. Something in him had known that he hadn’t just been sick. He’d woken up knowing something worse had happened. _Was I dead?_ He lost three days, or two weeks, he can’t be sure, and hasn’t felt quite right since. Sometimes he has nightmares about a woman with eyes that scare him, and sometimes in his nightmares Nick has eyes like that too. Split. Dark. 

Nick sits very still, gritting his teeth for a minute, while the thing in him laughs and screams and whispers, _he’ll hate you for what you did_ , which isn’t true. Nick tells it as best he can. There are parts that are still unclear, even to him. 

“You shot me?” Chris interrupts quietly. His voice, always a little soft, cracks minutely. He’s hurt. “You shot me!” Nick flinches. It sounds too much like how the ghost Vail said it. Hurt, angry. Sad.

“I had to.” 

“I don’t think you _had_ to.” 

“You were coming at me with a knife, at Jenny. It wasn’t you, anymore, anyway. It was her.” As it comes out of his mouth it feels like a weak excuse. He should have done more in the moment to help Vail. To protect him. “I’m sorry. I really am. Okay?”

“No, not okay. You shot me!” The echo is too much, too familiar. Something crosses his face, something Vail catches and that makes him feels he’s gone too far. Nick really is sorry. He is. He's never been more sorry for anything.

Vail crosses his arms and sits back in his seat, gives a gesture for Nick to continue. He mumbles, “can’t believe you shot me.” Thoughtlessly, he rubs at his collarbone, just where the second bullet hit him. Maybe his mind doesn’t remember what his body did on the plane, or what Ahmanet made his spirit do, but some part of him remembers. “Three times,” he sighs. Some part of him was there and present. That thought doesn’t sit well. 

Nick goes on, stuttering in hushed tones through the plane crash, the morgue, the bar. Chris listens intently, frowning. Nick hesitates. 

“What? What next?” 

“Vail, I… saw you. All over the place.” Chris pulls a face. “A ghost. But not a ghost. A… vision.” 

“I don’t remember that.” 

“It wasn’t you, not really. It was her, using you.” Nick keeps telling himself that, and since Chris doesn’t remember, he can even believe that it’s true.

“To do what?” 

“To... to…” Nick leans forward over his knees. A stray black letter swarms to the surface on the back of his hand. A flex of the thumb sends it back to the depths. “To tempt me. To bring me to her.” 

Chris looks down. He’s thinking it through. He looks almost ashamed of it, as if he has any reason to be. “Nick, I… I’m sorry. I wouldn’t-- I mean, if it was me, if I… I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Nick snaps at him. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

“But it worked. It got you to her.” 

“Yeah. She… got in my head.” 

“Using me.” 

“Using you.” 

The rest of the story is uglier. The churchyard, Prodigium-- which Vail has the courtesy to laugh at. “Stupid name,” he says, shaking his head. “Really stupid name.” --Jekyll. The thing that Jekyll becomes… that stops Vail’s amused chuckles. “So he’s a… a monster too? Or something?” 

“Something,” is all the answer Nick can provide. He has a thousand questions about Jekyll and his crass, monstrous alter ego and answers to none of them. 

Then it’s the crusader tomb. Nick skips over the fact that the Vail-ghost took him there, purposefully tried to deliver him to Ahmanet, but Chris catches the gap. “Wait,” he says, “How did you know where to go?”

Nick explains again. Every time Vail pops up in the story, as a ghost, a dream, a nightmare, whatever he was, Nick feels the hole he’s in getting deeper. And he feels how Chris recoils from it, horrified of his part in what Nick has gone through, what he’s become.

He tries to explain the thing in him now, how he’s frightened of how hard it is to control. How scared he is that he’ll hurt someone. “Hurt you,” he finishes lamely. He’s already hurt Chris. Hurt him too badly. Cursed him. _Killed him_. “I shouldn’t have brought you along.”

Chris flops back in his seat, staring forward. His body gives an involuntary shiver; the heat from the beach is leeching out.

“Brought me where?” He asks. “You mean now? I shouldn’t be here now?”

“No.”

“Or you shouldn’t have dragged me to Iraq in the first place?” A rush of shame burns Nick’s cheeks and he ducks his head. “Well, it’s too late, Nick. I’m here now, I’m in it. No going back.” He turns and leans in to whisper. “I’m cursed too, right? I’m part of this. And even if I wasn’t, I owe you.” 

This is news. “What?”

“I owe you my life, Nick.” 

“No, no you don’t.” The whole reason Chris was ever in danger was because of Nick. Vail shouldn’t be grateful that Nick brought him back from the dead, because Nick’s the whole reason he was dead to begin with. Nick makes a gesture and Vail catches his hand in mid-air. He looks Nick in the eye, very serious. In his chest, Nick feels something squirm. 

“I do. And even if I didn’t, I’d be here. You can’t shake me now. I’m not going anywhere. Where would I even go?”

It’s a good question. Once they came to Europe, there was never any discussion of ever returning to the states. Vail never talked about a family to go back to, and Nick certainly didn’t have one. No, all they had was each other. And now it’s the same. 

“Nick, I want to help. I want to be here with you.”

And they’re off to the desert again.

-

In Paola, in Italy, they get drunk. It doesn’t affect Nick like it used to, like it should, but if he drinks hard enough and fast enough he can outpace Set’s ability to sober him up. So they get trashed. 

“We deserve it,” Vail slurs, coming back from the bar with another round of shots. “It’s been a bad month.” 

On the walk back to their hotel, Vail stops into a pharmacy and, despite his broken Italian, manages to buy an old-school thermometer. Sitting on the bed they’re sharing, he smashes the glass and cracks it open, pouring the mercury into his palm. It rolls and bubbles, and Nick feels his skin tingle at the mere sight of it.

“It stings, almost,” Vail says softly. Nick startles.

“It does?” 

“Yeah.” Vail pours it from palm to palm, and turns his hand to the light so Nick can see. His skin is a little pink where the mercury had sat, a little raw and inflamed. Like he’s been scratching at a bug bite. “It’s not bad.” 

So what, Nick thinks, so Vail has the curse in him too. Vail is still touched by evil. It shouldn’t actually be surprising. Why wouldn’t he be? It was evil that brought him back from the dead. Evil that smashed him up and repaired him. Evil that keeps them tied together. 

Vail shivers. 

“Still cold?” 

“Mhm.” It doesn’t seem to bother him anymore. He’s still somewhat pale, but improving the further south they get. The mercury rolls in his palm, leaving behind little streaks that fade quickly. “You know my panther moved while I was dead.”

“What?” 

Vail slides the mercury into a cup on the bedside table and struggles through getting his jacket off. Rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he twists his arm to show Nick the large tattoo that covers his left bicep. Nick remembers it well-- remembers laughing at it the first time he saw it. It’s so cliché, and Vail had copped to having walked into a parlor and just picking something off the wall. A panther, big and muscular, curling up his bicep, digging in claws. The tail curled just above his elbow and the head rested on his shoulder, furiously baring teeth. Or at least, that’s how Nick remembers it. Looking at it now, Vail is right that the tattoo has changed. The panther is sleeker, more traditionally feline, more lean and languid. It’s claws are retracted. It looks nearly like it’s just… laid out in the sun on Chris’ arm. Resting. Not climbing any more. Content now as a kitten.

“Watch this.” Vail takes the mercury from the cup and presses it against his arm, sliding up to his shoulder. The silver seeps through his fingers like blood, and when he takes his hand away the panther has moved again, like a magic trick. It’s face is twisted in a howl of fury. It’s ears are back and it’s teeth are out. 

“Holy shit.” 

“Yeah.” Vail shrugs. He gives his head a sloppy shake, trying to get some drunken cobwebs out. “Fuck.” He flops down onto the bed and presses his face into the sheets. Another tremulous shiver runs down his spine. A hot palm settles on his lower back-- Nick-- and Vail lets himself drift off into the hazy land of a drunk sleep.

Nick takes off his shoes for him, pulls him up so he’s properly on the bed. The mercury is sitting in a beaded pool on top of the blankets, presenting a warbled reflection of the world. Half thoughtless, half morbidly curious, Nick makes a cup of his hand and rolls the mercury into his palm. 

It doesn’t just sting, it _burns_. It burns terribly, like a coal in his palm, but he holds it as long as he can stand. Then he drops it into the cup again and takes the cup into the bathroom. He knows he won’t be able to sleep with it sitting on the beside table. 

A ghoul meets him in the bathroom mirror. 

He looks like shit. Chris should have said something, he looks so bad. He shouldn’t be allowed out in public looking like this. His eyes are shadowed, his cheeks are sunken. Black tendrils curl under his skin. He looks like death, and not warmed over.

 _I’ll take care of you_ , Set whispers. A shadow over his shoulder takes form as a smoking, dripping mass. Part human, part dog, part blood and grime and crow and tar. _Or I’ll eat you up._

When Nick crawls into bed, his head is spinning. Set had teased him with alcohol all night, making him think it didn’t affect him anymore, when really the monster was just holding it at bay. Now, as a punishment for who knows what, the thing has dumped it all into his system. Reeling, Nick vomited for ten minutes in the bathroom. Brushed his teeth, splashed cold water on his face, told the monster to fuck off. 

Vail is cool and heavy next to him, and as they lie side by side Vail’s cool and heavy hand takes his and holds it firm.

His voice mumbles: “You’re okay, Nick. We’re okay.” 

They’re not okay and they’ll never be okay again. They’re cursed. They’re dead. 

But still… it’s nice to hear. It’s a comfort to hear it in Chris’ familiar, soft tones. “We’re gonna be okay. I’ll take care of you.” 

Forcing his body to cooperate, Nick shifts closer and presses his forehead to Vail’s shoulder. No one’s skin should be that cold. Not in Italy, not after drinking. Yet there he is, chilly as an autumn evening. _Half-dead_. 

Chris will take care of him, like he always has. Saving his life, keeping him out of trouble. Nick unfortunately can’t quite promise the same. Holding Vail’s hand, hard, he hears words fall out of his mouth. “Or I’ll eat you up.”

Chris doesn’t respond. He’s already dozed off again.

-

The world, for Chris, is suddenly too big and everything in it is bad. 

In Messene, in Greece, while sifting through a marshy ruin, this thing, this dripping monstrosity, throws him across the room and he smashes hard against the floor. It knocks the breath out of him, and before he knows it the thing has it's wet, slimy paws on him again.

There didn’t used to be monsters around every corner. Now it feels like everywhere they go, there’s something. Not just the things Nick brings to life accidentally, but genuine creatures he never could have imagined were real. Loping ghouls and then… this thing. This drippy, swampy thing made of seaweed. 

From across the room, he hears Nick holler. Sand whips up around his feet.

The thing grabs Vail and tosses him aside-- it's attention having moved to a more interesting opponent. 

Vail, still dazed, half notices how vibrant Nick looks. How tan and lively. How handsome. How angry.

But then he falls, and falls badly, hits the ground, hitting it hard, hitting it awkwardly. His momentum pushes him along, and he finds himself tumbling helter skelter down a half flight of stairs. His back hits the edges, and Vail feels something pop, snap, crack. It hurts, but just for a moment, and then he's tumbling further and the world goes black. 

Across the room, Nick feels the world go black too. A few seconds too late, a moment behind the lurching monstrosity that took Chris by the throat and threw him aside like he was nothing. Nick sees the way Vail hits the ground-- too hard and at all the wrong angles-- and knows that this _thing_ , this hardly alive creature, whatever it is, has broken his friend beyond repair. After all their talk, all his promises, Nick couldn’t keep Chris safe against _one thing_. Fire rises in his chest, along with the hair on the back of his neck.

 _Revenge_ , a voice whispers. It could be Set, but it could be himself just as easily. The impulse comes-- to tear this thing apart at the seams. To destroy it utterly. To shred it to nothing. 

Inside his chest, claws dig into his heart, his ribs. The monster in him whines and keens. _Let me out. Let me wreck havoc. Let me do what we both want._ It wants what Nick wants, and for once, Nick doesn’t care what happens if he lets the monster out. Not right now. Not while Chris lays broken and crumpled down a ruined staircase in some noplace temple in nowhere Greece. 

_Fuck it._

And he lets the monster out. And the world goes black.

And Set, to it’s credit, does what it promised. It tears, it destroys, it shreds, it wrecks. The wet lagoon thing is nothing more than a few slips of seaweed and grime when Set it done with it. Taken apart. Utterly unmade.

When Chris comes to, it's very quiet. It's way too quiet, actually. It's quiet and his head hurts, and the world is upside down.

 _Okay_ , Vail thinks, trying to put the pieces together. Everything feels hazy, far away. _I'm upside down. That’s not so bad_. Really, he's on his back, his head dangling over the edge of a stair. His neck is stiff, but the rest of him feels... like not much. When he tries to lift his head, he finds it hurts too badly. Probably he's broken something. He tries to move his legs, and finds he can't. His fingers are numb and buzzing. 

Bad news.

Just as he's starting to panic, a shadow falls over his face. It's Nick-- or, no, not exactly. It looks like Nick, but it's not. The vibe is all wrong, the posture. The Nick-thing crouches in front of him. Vail just looks, stays very still, and waits. The silence hanging over them gets thicker. There are no chirping birds or bugs, no sounds of wind rustling through trees. 

And Nick… his eyes are wrong. 

Set. This is Set. 

They haven't exactly met before.

Set speaks first, with Nick's voice. "How much he cares for you." It runs Nick's fingers through Vail's hair, and the hand comes away with blood on it. Vail squeaks. Terror sinks in. "How broken you are. How fragile. Humanity is so delicate. Like glass. Worthless and without strength." It tilts Nick's head, quirking it like a curious bird. 

Vail has seen Nick perform miracles, using Set's power. But he's never seen Set. Never heard it speak. Never seen the way it splits Nick's eyes, makes him pale. Never seen the lettering that comes to the forefront under Nick's skin. 

Vail has never seen Nick disappear so entirely, and it scares him. It scares him more than being face to face with whatever swamp thing had been trying to kill them, scares him more than now being face to face with an ancient god. His friend, his best friend, has been utterly subsumed. And he’s not sure how to get him back.

"Should I fix you, child?" 

It runs Nick's hand, Nick's warm, familiar hand, down the back of Vail's skull and down to the base of his neck. It lifts. Vail feels his crumpled bones shift back into place. There’s surprisingly little pain. As Set sits him up, it continues to run hands over his spine, his ribs, the back of his head. Healing him. _Fixing him._

"Are you grateful?" Nick voice is in his ear, his breath hot against his cheek. 

Stunned, frightened, Vail nods. Set runs a finger along his jawline, then pushes at his chin to turn his face. Examine him. 

"I don't see what he sees. But he is desperate for you." In the blink of an eye, Nick's face is too close. Distorted by the presence of Set, it hardly seems like Nick at all. The features aren't right, shouldn't look like that, move like that. "So frightened for you." The fingers dig hard into his jaw, holding him still, hurting him. "He should be." 

Now, finally terrified into action, Vail starts to struggle. Every movement brings sharp pains shooting through his back and arms. Set pulls him back, close. It's strong, stronger than Nick. It holds him in place and laughs at him.

"No, no, little one. Nowhere for you to go. Your life is a gift. I can take it back." Set smiles and something snaps in Vail's back. He screams, his body shudders and pain hits him like a bucket of ice water. Or a sack of bricks. It's everywhere, and it's blinding. 

And just as fast as it came, it's gone. Vail collapses, panting, heaving. It feels like a wall fell on him. Set laughs with Nick's voice. 

"Alright, dude," Vail wheezes. "Fuck off." 

Set goes still.

“Fuck off and give me my friend back. I’m over it. You suck. This sucks. Thanks for the help but honestly I fucking hate you. I want my friend back.” Vail’s body shudders. “I know Nick is in there, and I want him back.” 

Set stares. Fury rolls off him like heat out of an oven. 

“You’re afraid,” Set says. There’s something to the expression that Chris shudders at. Fury, yes, but interest too. 

“Of course! Of course I am! But that doesn’t make you less of an asshole.” 

Something happens, something Vail doesn’t quite track, and Set turn, his back tightens. The posture shifts. It’s Nick who turns back to him, looking desperate. 

“Chris,” he says. It’s Nick, it’s absolutely Nick. His eyes are normal, green. His hands are shaking. “Chris, are you okay?” 

“I mean, no? Are you?” 

“You should run.” 

“No. I won’t.” Vail neglects to mention that even if he were so inclined, he’s not sure he even could. Standing up feels impossible, the way his legs feel like jelly, the way his stomach flips and the world spins when he turns his head. Running is out of the question. “Nick--”

Nick shudders again and Set reemerges, more furious. It’s horrible, and frightening. But Nick is strong, tough. There’s goodness in him, and warmth, and that has to win out. It has to. But there’s not much Chris can do to help. It’s about all he can do to drag himself against a column and wait it out, hope and pray that Nick is able to get the monster in him back under control. Or that Set will allow itself to be quieted. 

Pressing his forehead against the cold, rough stone, Chris finds himself repeating Nick’s name over and over. _Nick, Nick, Nick. Please, Nick._

-

Nick comes out of the darkness, thank god, and they don’t talk about it. He carries Chris out of the ruins, arm around his aching back. 

“I'm sorry.” Nick looks tired again. He won't look Vail in the eye, not even as he washes blood out of Chris' hair, cleans a scrape along Chris’ eyebrow, puts a little bandage over a cut on his forehead.

“You… did that for me? Let him out, I mean, for me?”

“I'm sorry,” Nick whispers, and it's the most he’ll say. But it’s enough that he presses his forehead to Vail’s, holds him close and tight and hard, feeling his steady breath and beating heart. Vail knows what Nick has done for him, what he’ll keep doing for him. Chris makes a decision then and there, one he already knew but hadn’t articulated yet. He’s never leaving Nick Morton. They’re going to get this thing out of him and Chris is never going to leave. Even if Nick tries to send him away, he won’t go. That’s that. 

The next day they’re back on the road like it never happened.

-

A week later, in Egypt, Vail’s shivers finally stop. The heat and the sun infuse him and invigorate him. Even Nick’s roiling beast is quieter. Vail gets a sunburn across his nose. It peels, it heals, and a weight lifts off of Nick’s shoulders. It convinces him that, more of less, Chris is _alive_ again, properly alive. His body works like it should, heals like it should. He’s not an ice cold undead after all, decaying before their eyes. Not here at least. Here he is tan and vigorous again. His sense of humor returns. As Nick leads them on wild goose chase after wild goose chase through the desert, Vail starts to quip, “Thanks for bringing me back to life and everything, but--” It’s a joke between them, a comfortable new aspect of their relationship. An acknowledgement of what they are now. _I hate you, but--_

They talk about Set in abstracts. Chris kneads at his still sore back and makes jokes about being dead. 

And while Nick’s monster was quiet for a while, put in it’s place after Greece, now it wants out. Wants to be free in it’s native land. Not that it’s as nasty and taunting as it was in England, but it’s not as willing to stay in the dark. It’s uneasy, restless. Nick finds it increasingly difficult to keep the lettering off his skin. He finds himself speaking to Chris in ancient Egyptian, which neither of them fully understand. He feels, constantly, both the most vigorous and capable he’s ever felt and pretty queasy and foul all the time. 

They camp out under the stars, beneath dunes, nestled in the sand. The sun sets and Nick unwinds the fabric protecting-- hiding-- his skin. The letters are out in full force, running thickly over his hands and up his arms. He can’t see, but he can feel them wriggling over his collar bones. Climbing. 

“Nick,” Chris’ voice comes softly over his shoulder. Nick jumps, reaches for his bandages, his jacket, anything to hide this from Vail. He hasn’t seen this-- Nick has been careful. When they’ve shared rooms and even beds, Nick has remained carefully covered. “Whoa, that’s some wild shit. So much. Let me see.” He drops onto the sand next to Nick and takes his arm in hand. As he touches, the letters flock to him like birds to bread. Every place his fingers touch, a cluster of lettering blooms. Nick stares. He can feel every ridge of Chris’ fingerprints. Every scrape of a callus. “Holy shit.”

The thing in his chest whispers, _I want him._

Chris looks at the letters, pushes up Nick’s sleeve to get a better look at them. 

_I want him._

There’s sand in Vail’s hair. He looks tired from a long day of riding. There are circles under his eyes. His beard is filling in. Vails’ fingers, hesitant, tug at Nick’s collar, peeking at the trails of figures that trickle up his chest.

_Let me have him._

Nick stills Chris’ hand with his own. His heartbeat pulses through Vail’s palm. “Vail,” he warns. “Don’t. You don't--” 

“Don’t what?” His fingers tighten against Nick’s chest. They share a shuddering breath. “Look, It’s not that I’m not grateful, I am, I mean thanks for bringing me back to life, but--” They laugh, hushed. Chris is very close to him, his eyes dark and soft. They’re close enough that he’s a little cross-eyed, and it’s too open, too vulnerable, too sweet. “But Nick… I… That’s not what this… is. I mean, that’s not what I-- I mean that I want to. I mean… you know.” 

_You want him too._

And… He does. Of course he does. And this is Chris telling him that whatever he wants he can take. Because he’s offering. Not because he feels obligated. Because he wants it just as much. And Nick has known that for years, since that night in the south of France where Nick used it to his advantage, has filed that knowledge away and kept it, but--

_Have him._

Nick’s determination wavers, his strength sapped. In the darkness, lit just by a few electric lanterns further down the dune, Chris looks warm and human and familiar. Attractive. 

_Give in._

_I want him._

_I want to devour him._

It should stop him, that phrase. It should stop him in his tracks. But it doesn’t. Instead it lights a fire in him. A flare in his heart and gut. Hot and bright and consuming. 

He jerks Chris towards him, crashing their mouths together. Vail gives a squeak of surprise, then fists his hand in Nick’s shirt and opens his mouth, and kisses him hard and biting and hot and serious. Their teeth clack, their noses bump. Chris laughs. Nick pushes him down onto the sand. How vulnerable he looks down there, pinned beneath him. His ribs are visible through the fabric of his shirt, hard and shifting with his breath. 

_Devour him._

Vail tugs on Nick’s shoulder, gets his arms around his neck and pulls him close over top of him. Nick swings a leg over, for ease, and feels-- coupled with a flash of heat and embarrassment mixed together-- how they fit together. They kiss with sand in their mouths, between their teeth and in their eyebrows. Chris keeps his hands around Nick’s neck, wrapped in the hair at the base of his skull. They separate just enough for Nick to tug Chris’ shirt out of his waist band and up over his head. The sand is warm against Vail’s back when he gets his own hands up against Nick’s spine, under his shirt. 

“Oh shit,” he whispers, almost in awe. With fervor, he pulls off Nick’s shirt, takes in his chest in the dim light. “Shit.” His tone has turned. So Nick looks too. 

His chest is covered in lettering. More than he’s had before, since perhaps in the tomb, right after it happened. Chris reaches out to touch, and when he does, just like before, the lettering swarms to him.

 _I want him_ , the thing in Nick whispers. He can feel… pressure, from inside. Something trying to get out, to claw through his skin, and if it could, claw through, it would pour over Chris, and take him for it’s own. _I want his life_. Gently, and very slowly, Nick takes Chris by the wrists and moves his hands away. The lettering calms down, settles itself into neat lines and rows along his ribs and down his sides.

“Close your eyes,” he says. 

“Come on, Nick, I wanna look at you.” 

“No.” Inside of him, the monster laughs at him, at his shame. Chris puts hands on Nick’s ribs again, and the lettering moves to him again. Black hordes swarming to his fingertips.

“Wow.”

“Stop. We have to stop.” 

“Nick--” 

Nick stands, removing himself from Chris’ reach, and prowls away down the hill, back towards their little camp. Vail props himself up on his elbows, disappointed, frustrated. “Nick, come on. I’m sorry. Come back. Nick!” 

But the moment has passed. Long gone. Chris collapses back onto the sand with a sigh. The stars are bright and clear in the sky above him. His heartbeat thrums in his ears. A few deep breaths later, he’s ready to stand up. Collecting his shirt and pulling it back on, Vail half-slides, half-lopes down the hill. 

Nick is already in their lean-to tent, stretched out on his back, staring off into nothing. Vail crawls in next to him, lays on his side to examine Nick’s profile. Not that he’d say anything, but a lot had changed about Nick over the past few weeks. He’s quieter, more introspective. Less reckless, more reserved. More aware and more tetchy, more on edge and more anxious. It’s the thing in him, Chris knows. The thing that’s constantly pushing at him. He knows it’s getting harder to control. Knows that it’s tearing Nick apart from the inside out. He looks tired and sick all the time. As Chris starts to look healthier, bolstered by the sun and the heat, Nick starts to look worse, to decay. But he still grins, still has that nose, those sparkling eyes. The same, but different. Who wouldn’t be different, after all he’s been through?

“Hey Nick.” His voice is no more than a whisper. Nick turns to him, a certain resigned misery in his eyes. Vail winds himself tightly up, his arms twisted around his chest, firmly _not touching_. “Do you think we’re even alive?” From the way Nick’s expression changes-- one sharply lifted eyebrow, his mouth pursing tightly-- it’s not the question he was expecting. “I mean, I don’t remember being dead exactly, but I believe it. And I know you brought me back, I’m grateful, but… I mean, things are different. You’re different. I’m different.” 

Nick interrupts. “Do you feel alive?” 

Chris nods. “I guess so. Here at least. Here I do.” 

“Me too.” 

“What would happen if we got shot, though? Do you think?” 

“I don’t know.” Nick has an idea, of course. He thinks Chris would die. Again. He’s alive enough to die. As for himself, he saw how Ahmanet handled it. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

“You can’t guarantee that.” 

“I can guarantee that I’ll keep you alive.” It’s said harshly, and it sits poorly between them. The implication of it. That he could drag Chris out of the afterlife over and over, as many times as needed. He can perform miracles, but they both know it comes only with the permission of the monster. When would Set get tired of saving the same poor schmuck over and over? They already know Set isn’t exactly Vail’s biggest fan.

“Do you think we’ll age?” 

“Chris, I think you’re alive. I think you’ll live and age like anybody else.” 

Vail frowns. He’s not stupid. He noticed the singular pronoun. But they both know Nick’s situation is different. They have to get the monster out of him before he can consider himself even human again. It’s why they came back to the Middle East. To get it out. To cure him. 

“You know how you can… make people do things? See things?” 

Nick nods, not sure where this is going. It’s an ugly thing that Set can do, but it’s gotten them past border guards and customs officials more than once. 

“Do you think that… would work on me?” It’s a delicate way to say an ugly thing. Nick’s stomach twists. The monster snickers. 

“I wouldn’t try.” Vail frowns, like he doesn’t believe it. “Chris, I wouldn’t.” They stare at each other for a long minute. “I need you to trust me. You’re all I have.” 

In the morning, Vail wakes up half buried in sand. He wants to blame it on winds, but looking at how tight Nick’s jaw is and how apologetically he brushes grains out of Chris’ beard and off his clothes, he figures there was more to it. 

Today the monster isn’t quiet, isn’t still. Instead of making Nick sick and weary, it makes him anxious and excitable. As they pack up their little camp, sand nips at Nick’s heels, trotting after him in the half-formed shapes of cats and weasels. It would be amusing, verging on cute, if it wasn’t so unnatural. As they get on their horses and ride, the sand comes after them in large, billowing currents, waves of sand that they can just barely outrun. 

But it is an _adventure_.

Vail finds himself reveling in the thrill of it, despite it all. It’s easy to get caught up… The sand, the horses. Like Lawrence of Arabia. But less… romantic, maybe. More horrible. More terrible, in the classical sense. On days like this, he tries not to think about it. 

-

Giza is a wild place. Well, it’s a city. That’s all it is. It’s vibrant, lively, active. Always teeming and moving. Even their hotel, cheap spot that it is, is thrumming with noise at all hours. The first night, Vail collapses onto the bed and immediately falls asleep-- It’s the first time they’ve slept in beds in over a week. Hell, it’s the first time they’ve slept indoors. He crawls out of that bed early the next afternoon (Nick is gone already, nowhere to be seen and no note left) and the first thing Vail does is take a long shower. Sand and dirt sloughs off him. He trims down his beard, combs his hair, and feels more like a person when he emerges. Less like some otherworldly creature made of tissue paper and spit, held together by twine. The day is hot and he lays on the bed naked for an hour, drying and resting, taking advantage of the hour or two of quiet privacy. His body aches today. His stomach is a little uneasy. 

Casually, he inspects himself for new scars. There’s no evidence of the bite that infected him, or the two shots that put him down. In fact, a scar he used to have along his ribs is missing. He can still feel the hard edge of scar tissue there, but deep down. The skin itself is smooth. Another scar is lighter than it was, a third is shorter. It’s strange. His tattoos are lighter, too, generally-- the black doesn’t contrast as sharply as they did even a week ago. The panther is curled at his shoulder today, sleeping like a kitten.The crescent moon on the back of his arm is slowly turning to face up instead of down. It’s so strange. More than strange, actually; it’s disarming. It gives him the creeps. Putting back on his less-than-clean clothes, covering up the prowling cat, hiding it and the other changes under cotton and rayon… it helps a little. But the relief is short lived. Ever present is the undercurrent of feeling that his body is changing without his knowledge, or permission. Reorienting itself right out from under him into something he’s not sure he’ll recognize.

He doesn’t like how different he’s becoming, even in small ways. Nick hasn’t mentioned it, but he must have noticed. The change in his eyes, in his skin… his heartbeat is slower. He bruises more easily and feels more pain.

His t-shirt is starting to wear thin near the shoulders and collarbones. There’s a couple holes around the seams. It would be easy to blame that on normal wear, and two weeks worn in the sun and sand without much washing or care. But it was a nearly new shirt when he first put it on. 

Everything is decaying around him. 

Everything is crumbling.

Existential dread sinks in, which Vail decides to handle like he did when he was in high school-- by going back to bed.

He sleeps poorly, restlessly, and has bad dreams. All of them are about Nick, and the mummy, and the monster that she put in him. Or he put in himself. The woman slinks in the back of his dreams, whispering words he doesn’t understand. Set hovers, a ghoulish dripping mass sometimes, wearing Nick’s face at other times. Sand engulfs him, separates him from Nick, who doesn’t care. 

Vail wakes up sweating, and covered in cats. 

Nick is back, sitting on the edge of the bed. About ten cats are between them, crawling over Chris’ legs and chest, rubbing against Nick’s back. He pets one idly, a warm look on his face.

“What’s happening?” 

“They followed me,” Nick shrugs. “I don’t know.” 

“Where were you?” 

“Figured I’d let you sleep. Went out to start seeing who was out there, what they knew. If I could find someone to take us into the pyramids.” That they need a guide is nothing new-- they don’t speak the language, first off. It’s been a roadblock the whole time they’ve been in the middle east. What Nick expects, or hopes, to find in the well-explored pyramids isn’t clear. But the thing in him knows more than either of them do, and when Nick lets it lead the way, they’ve tended to end up in the right place. The monster guided them effortlessly across hundreds of miles of desert. The monster led them to oases and villages. The monster raised sand to hide them and clouds to shade them. So if the monster wants to take them into the pyramids, so be it, Vail thinks. He’ll go along. There’s gotta be a reason for it. “I was just getting used to that beard on you, too.” 

Vail smiles, rubs a hand over his jaw. “I’ll grow it back if you want.” 

“Maybe I’ll grow one.” As long as they’ve known each other, Nick has never had so much as scruff. They share a laugh over the idea of a beard. Vail puts a hand on Nick’s knee. The heat of the day is upon them, making the air heavy and sleepy. 

“You look good today. Healthy.” 

“Healthy,” Nick echoes wrlyly. “Wow, thanks.” 

“It’s good, Nick. You look good.” 

Vail waits for Nick to speak. “It… it’s quiet today.” 

“Maybe it’s the cats.” It’s half a joke, and Nick cracks half a smirk to match.

“You know I get sick when you’re gone too long.” Nick’s smile disappears sharply. “I just mean, when we’re apart I start to get… cold, again. Achey. I figured you’d want to know.” 

Nick nods. He’s turned inward, considering, still thoughtlessly petting a cat. 

“No getting rid of you, you mean?” It’s an attempt at a joke, and honestly, Vail appreciates it. 

Dramatically, he plays along. “I’d just die without you.” Playfully, he throws a hand over his eyes. When Nick doesn’t laugh, he drops the charade. “Come on, lighten up. Look, I was halfway through a nap when you got back. Lay down.” 

Nick lies down next to him, sure, and Chris feels the comforting weight of his body near by and slips off into dark sleep again. The cats settle around them, resting their little chins on Chris’ legs and curling their tails around his arms and throat and Nick’s fingers. It’s warm, and comfortable, and for the first time in a week Chris doesn’t dream.

Rest doesn’t come so easily to Nick. A sinister idea has settled into his mind and itches away at him. His attention sits on Chris’ sleeping profile, but his mind wanders down a darker path. Chris is alive thanks to Set. Set did it, brought him back, allowed Nick to bring him back. Set breathed life back into him, cured his wounds, made him whole and warm again. Nick asked the monster for Vail’s life, and the monster acquiesced. What if the monster took it back? Could Set do that? 

And if their quest succeeds, and they manage to get the monster out of him… what does that mean for Chris? 

The horrible thought settles in like one of the cats, heavy in his mind and chest. If they get rid of the curse, would they lose it’s gifts? If the monster left, would Vail’s returned life leave with it? Is that what it would take to rid himself of the thing living behind his ribs? Could he make that trade-- Vail’s life to get rid of a monster?

Nick can’t be sure what would happen-- or what he would do-- and the monster itself is keeping quiet. It’s a waking nightmare to consider it. 

Taking hold of Chris’ wrist, Nick feels his pulse for comfort. Sluggish, but present. Alive, but not entirely. A tightness collects under his jaw. _Fuck._ What has he done. 

The monster, wherever it resides within him, starts to laugh and hiss and doesn’t stop. 

_You fool_ , it cackles meanly. _You’ll never know until it’s too late._

-

In a seedy bar one night, they meet Jensen, who reeks with desperation for his luck to turn around, but speaks English and is giddy to meet other people who do. He’s English, more or less, mid-40s, easily flustered, stocky, and has a spotty northern accent that slides around in his mouth. He talks openly about his experiences at Oxford and the University of Cairo. Nick nearly asks if he knows Jenny, then crushes the impulse. Jensen’s got some expertise at least, and from the way he talks, he’s got a few connections and has done a few back alley deals. Immediately, Vail thinks he’s weaselly, which, Nick reminds him, is probably exactly what they want. Nick smiles and smiles and nods and says _nothing_ , while Jensen happily jabbers on. 

“So what is it you two gentlemen do, exactly?” He asks. 

Nick glances at Vail, who stares right back. They hadn’t discussed how to handle this kind of question. It’s not exactly like they can tell the truth, certainly not right off the bat. Just two soldiers of fortune who fucked up, died, and were resurrected by an undead mummy with miracle monster powers. Long story short. Ha. Yeah right. 

Nick opens his mouth, closes it, frowns. 

“What’s your story?” Jensen clarifies. “Where do you hail from?”

“We’re uh, amateur explorers,” Vail says in a hurry, when it’s clear Nick doesn’t know what to say. Immediately it feels like a stupid choice. “You know, came into some money and thought we’d… see more of the world.” It sounds lame and thinly drawn. 

“Money?” 

“We’re widowers,” Nick says firmly. “Recent widowers. So. Family money. Insurance. You get it.” 

Jensen frowns, tilting his head curiously to one side. “Widowers? Both of you?” 

“Bad luck, huh?” Chris says, thinking he could use another drink. Pretty stupid of Nick to saddle them with fake dead wives they’re going to have to not only remember exist, but remember fake details about. He doesn’t feel old enough to have a dead wife, even a fake one. “Old friends, recent widowers. That’s us.” 

If Jensen believes them, it would be a miracle. 

Though, Nick is good at miracles these days...

Nick leans in close over the table, and says in a low voice, “What matters is that we need a guide, someone who knows the ropes around here and can get us in and out of where we want to go. Someone discreet.” The air has changed around them. Vail shivers. 

Jensen mumbles, “Amateur explorers?” 

Vail hops in, trying to get some of the dread out of the air. “We’re having an adventure. Stretching our wings.” It’s strange. He’s been a soldier for so long, it’s hard to believe that he doesn’t look like one. Nick is bristling next to him, his hands fisted in his lap. A single black letter flutters across his knuckles. Chris claps a hand on Nick’s shoulder, presses hard at the muscle where neck meets torso. Under his touch, the muscles relax and release.

“Old friends?”

“Yeah, we--”

“We’re together,” Nick says. It’s not sharp, necessarily, but it’s pointed. “Get it?” Across the table, Jensen raises his eyebrows. Vail watches the pieces click together-- their proximity, Vail’s hand on Nick’s shoulder, the way their knees brush, their vagueness and want for secrecy. He nods, slowly, once, twice. 

“Oh. Oh, I see. Yes, yes, I see. Of course. Discretion. Of course.” Flustered, he stands and offers to get another round of drinks. 

Once he’s out of sight, Nick turns and gives a half-apologetic shrug. “That does it.”

“So what? Now we’re… romantic paramours traipsing around the desert together?” 

“Romantic paramours, I love that.” A familiar, playful glitter comes into Nick’s eye. Chris glares him down. “Well, aren’t we?”

Vail ducks his head. Despite everything, he never thought Nick took it seriously. Or actually thought of him like that. Never thought Nick cared about one messy night in a hotel, then, three years of nothing later, one make out session in the sand. A few shared beds, a few careful touches. It seemed so thoughtless on Nick’s end. Vail thought about it, had been thinking about it. For three years. Obviously. He’d followed Nick to hell and back. Literally. But he never once thought that Nick had ever cared about him equally. Or even verging on equally. Historically, Nick was selfish, thoughtless, charming but not always invested. Never actually leaving Vail behind, but coming close more than once. Always bullying, teasing, dragging him along. Putting him in danger. And now… What was it, really, that inspired Nick to bring him back from the other side? Just because he felt guilty? Or something else? 

“Stop thinking about it,” Nick laughs. Not for the first time, Vail gets the feeling that Nick can read his thoughts. “Take a deep breath.” Under the table, his hand finds Chris’ leg. A little groping, and he finds his hand, takes, holds. “You look like you’re panicking. Are you panicking?” 

_Yes._ “No.” 

“Just relax, Vail. It’s fine. We are together. Wherever we go, we go together, right?” Vail nods blankly, hardly comprehending, and Jensen comes back, careful balancing three tall glasses. Nick releases Chris’ hand to take one. 

“Well,” Jensen says. “To future ventures, I suppose.” 

They clack their glasses together. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t even know your names!” 

And so Mr. P.C. Blake and Dr. Chris Mulrooney emerge out of the sand and shadows, and take over where Sergeant Nick Morton and Corporal Chris Vail left off. _Doctor_ Chris Mulrooney. Vail likes the sound of it. Well, not the Mulrooney part, that’s sortof silly sounding. But the other bit. Doctor. Like he achieved something important, did something with that college degree. Nick had done it, made it up for him on the spot. “Doctor Mulrooney,” he’d said and before Chris could elbow him for a name like _Mulrooney_ , Nick had turned to him with the warmest look on his face. So warm, so sweet, it turns Chris’s stomach. “He’s an anthropologist. That’s why we came to Egypt. He was interested.”

_Anthropologist._

Vail nods. He had spent a lot of the past two weeks in bed, reading through papers and articles and books on subjects most historians think are crackpot theories. He came across mentions that seemed promising, whispers through the academia of books and temples and demons exorcised. He has ideas of where they could go, leads to follow. 

But…

_Anthropologist._

Nick remembered. 

Leaning forward over his drink, Nick gives a charming, conspiratorial grin. “We’d love to see something no one else has seen, you know?” 

Jensen perks up like a fox realizing the hen-house door is open. 

“Do you know… well, there’s a spot I’ve been wanting to investigate, near the border, but I haven’t had a chance to make it… or, well, the funding really…” 

Vail rolls his eyes. 

But Jensen keeps talking, fumbling really, and out comes the information about the fabled Book of Set, which was said to have contained within it the spells and rituals needed to control a God. Under the table, Nick’s fingers dig into Chris’ thigh. 

This could be it. 

It’s too lucky. For all the miracles Set has handed them, this can’t be one. This is something else. This is some favor from some other god. 

Well. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, as they say.

“...Buried with it’s owner, they say, hidden away. Too powerful. And the location of the tomb, too, was hidden. But some, uh, colleagues of mine and I figured it out quite recently. It wasn’t easy, I tell you, but--”

Inside, under his skin, Set wriggles furiously, turning Nick’s stomach and making him sick. The wave of nausea passes, and Nick knows it’s a good sign. If the monster is upset, if it doesn’t want to go, then it must be because this book is the real deal. 

“Okay,” Nick stops him with a wave of his hand. “You can quit the pitch. We’ll go.” 

“Oh!” Jensen half jumps out of his seat. “Oh how grand!” 

Vail leans forward-- “Okay, but _where_ are we going?”

-

They stumble back to their hotel, their arms brushing the whole way. In a different country, under different circumstances, they would have arms tossed around each other. Under very different circumstances they might even be hand in hand.

For now it’s enough to feel each other through their sleeves, to bump into each other every few steps.

“This could be it, Nick,” Vail says. Funny how even when he’s speaking quietly, he has the cadence of yelling. Nick smiles. 

“Could be. It’s something at least.” 

At the hotel, both of them a little dizzy and warm, they collapse onto one bed, their shoulders cramped together. 

“This’ll all be over soon,” Vail sighs. It doesn’t quite sound like he means it, more that he’s trying to convince himself. He nudges Nick’s arm, turns to him with a warm, tipsy smile. “And you’ll be free.” 

“I guess.” 

“That’s… what you want, isn’t it?” 

Nick rolls to look at him. “Of course. Of course it is.” He wants nothing more than to have his life back, his health, his free-wheeling ability to do what he wants, when he wants. He wants out of this insane world, away from the monsters and gods and horrors. And he wants to get Vail out of it too. “And I want you there.” 

Vail blushes. He wasn’t fishing but it’s still nice to hear. 

“Chris, I want you with me.” 

“I know. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” 

They don’t discuss that even if he wanted to, he probably couldn’t. They don’t discuss what might happen if they do manage to kick Set out of his guts. They don’t discuss anything else. 

All that matters, for now, is that they have a lead. There’s hope, active hope. They have a chance suddenly. It’s no longer just make-believe, that this curse could be broken. Maybe there’s a future. 

“Great. Okay.” 

“Okay.”

“It’s an adventure, right?” Vail says with a wry smile. Nick bursts into a grin. That old, charming, brilliant smile. Vail crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head. “Romantic paramours, I can’t believe you.” 

A small chuckle floats across to him. 

Feeling bold, bold because of the alcohol, the proximity, the flicker of hope that sits hot and bright in his chest, Chris pulls Nick close by his collar and moves in to kiss him-- but on the way, crashes their noses together. 

“Shit, shit, man, sorry.” 

“Shut up.” Nick performs the act much more smoothly, turning his head just so, fitting their mouths together just right. 

“I hate you, man, I really do.” 

Nick responds with a rumbling _mmhm_ that shoots right up Chris’ spine. Hands follow, holding firm to Chris’ ribs, clutching at his hip bones, digging into his shoulder blades. They kiss like it’s natural, like it’s their norm. Then Nick does a thing with his knee and hip, edging apart Chris’ legs, and Chris feels his whole body go a little weak.

“Fuck.”

“That’s the idea.” Nick’s mouth works at his jawline, his throat. Fingers slip under the hem of his t-shirt. 

“You smug bastard. You absolute piece of--” 

“Shut up, Vail.” 

“Okay. Yeah, oh shit, okay.”

 _This is it_ , he thinks as Nick tugs off his shirt. This will be the rest of his life. Adventure and mayhem and whatever monsters they encounter… and they’ll encounter it together. Arm in arm, hand in hand. Together. 

Okay. 

Chris squeezes his eyes shut as Nick mouths at his collarbone, just to the right of his heart. 

Not bad.

Not a bad life.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know if y'all played that funny iphone story game? but you should??? This fic leads directly up to that. Also it's sorta fun.


End file.
